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Description
THE GYPSY'S NIECE
Prologue

There is always a time when we leave. I sometimes hear people going on about "putting down your roots", but my roots are everywhere. For me it's comforting, not unstable, for no matter where I am, I am home.

Gypsies are a tight-knit group, even here, in the US, where many connect "gypsy" with "exotic vagabound with bangles that only exists in movies/classic literature". But we're very much here. The normal people see us all the time, but look straight through us anyway.

We're also a nomadic tribe, and crash at each other's homes with practically no formalities, no questions. Or, like in my case, you get lucky, and find that a family friend's grandmother has died...

How horrible does that sound?

I'll try to explain:
This "grandmother" was a gypsy like the rest of us, with the enchanting eyes, the secrets, and the beliefs which other people call "superstitions"(which annoys me to no end: why do people presume to name other peoples' beliefs? Sure, if you believe in Catholicism of Muslim or Judaism, it's "religion", your traditions are legitimate. But if you pick up something from the ground because it's red and that stands for good luck, well, now then, that's just SILLY).

The one, main, colossal difference that seperated her from us was that she had wealth, though she didn't start out that way.

Gypsies as a whole are poor but exultant- you can't make much from fortune-telling, henna-tatooing, and selling scarves at fairs, but we love doing it, which is what's important.

So how, you may ask, did our friend's grandmother come to such riches?

Rather simple, really: a baron fell madly in love with her.

Life is a funny thing.

Of course, his family was stunned, even disgusted, that their beloved, previously obedient son intended to marry a destitute girl who wore a colorful, dirty skirt, walked around with no shoes, and danced immodestly through the streets on festival days.

Granted, they admitted she was beautiful in her own way(JESUS! She really was, I've seen a black-and-white photo of her) with copper skin, green eyes, dark hair, the lithe, carefree way in which she walked, and the radiance she exuded when smiling.

But while she had her own distinct beauty, they didn't care for it. Not only did they think her unworthy and raised by thieves, but she had a fiery spirit that could not be controlled. The baron's parents didn't want a daughter-in-law who had a mind of her own and the will to speak it.

When he married her against their wishes, his family disowned him, and he had only his modest(HA! I doubt it. Maybe for HIM) house to live in with his bride, not the grand mansion his mother and father would've offered him if he had married a "respectable" girl with proper decorum.

Rosa always tells the best stories about her "Grandmama".

This is where my aunt and I come in:
We had been living in a trailer for seven months now. After Rosa called and we heard the sad news, we drove immeadiately down. She gave us keys to her grandmother's house, tol dus she couldn't bear looking at it, wanted us to have it. She also told us she'd pay every bill until we had enough to make ends meet(Rosa still has her old family money).

This is where I am now:
On a train from New York to Rhode Island, two huge suitcases of mine taking up all my leg room. Aunt is sitting across from me, sleeping, reclined on the gray poleyester seats. I am eating potato chips, licking the salt from my fingers, and staring out the window. Ringing through my head is a Romany saying:

"To those who will see, the world waits."

Description
THE GYPSY'S NIECE
Prologue

There is always a time when we leave. I sometimes hear people going on about "putting down your roots", but my roots are everywhere. For me it's comforting, not unstable, for no matter where I am, I am home.

Gypsies are a tight-knit group, even here, in the US, where many connect "gypsy" with "exotic vagabound with bangles that only exists in movies/classic literature". But we're very much here. The normal people see us all the time, but look straight through us anyway.

We're also a nomadic tribe, and crash at each other's homes with practically no formalities, no questions. Or, like in my case, you get lucky, and find that a family friend's grandmother has died...

How horrible does that sound?

I'll try to explain:
This "grandmother" was a gypsy like the rest of us, with the enchanting eyes, the secrets, and the beliefs which other people call "superstitions"(which annoys me to no end: why do people presume to name other peoples' beliefs? Sure, if you believe in Catholicism of Muslim or Judaism, it's "religion", your traditions are legitimate. But if you pick up something from the ground because it's red and that stands for good luck, well, now then, that's just SILLY).

The one, main, colossal difference that seperated her from us was that she had wealth, though she didn't start out that way.

Gypsies as a whole are poor but exultant- you can't make much from fortune-telling, henna-tatooing, and selling scarves at fairs, but we love doing it, which is what's important.

So how, you may ask, did our friend's grandmother come to such riches?

Rather simple, really: a baron fell madly in love with her.

Life is a funny thing.

Of course, his family was stunned, even disgusted, that their beloved, previously obedient son intended to marry a destitute girl who wore a colorful, dirty skirt, walked around with no shoes, and danced immodestly through the streets on festival days.

Granted, they admitted she was beautiful in her own way(JESUS! She really was, I've seen a black-and-white photo of her) with copper skin, green eyes, dark hair, the lithe, carefree way in which she walked, and the radiance she exuded when smiling.

But while she had her own distinct beauty, they didn't care for it. Not only did they think her unworthy and raised by thieves, but she had a fiery spirit that could not be controlled. The baron's parents didn't want a daughter-in-law who had a mind of her own and the will to speak it.

When he married her against their wishes, his family disowned him, and he had only his modest(HA! I doubt it. Maybe for HIM) house to live in with his bride, not the grand mansion his mother and father would've offered him if he had married a "respectable" girl with proper decorum.

Rosa always tells the best stories about her "Grandmama".

This is where my aunt and I come in:
We had been living in a trailer for seven months now. After Rosa called and we heard the sad news, we drove immeadiately down. She gave us keys to her grandmother's house, tol dus she couldn't bear looking at it, wanted us to have it. She also told us she'd pay every bill until we had enough to make ends meet(Rosa still has her old family money).

This is where I am now:
On a train from New York to Rhode Island, two huge suitcases of mine taking up all my leg room. Aunt is sitting across from me, sleeping, reclined on the gray poleyester seats. I am eating potato chips, licking the salt from my fingers, and staring out the window. Ringing through my head is a Romany saying:

"To those who will see, the world waits."